


How Rachel Berry Started Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' Another

by sceptick



Category: Glee
Genre: Breathplay, F/F, F/M, Masturbation, Rachel/Broadway, Rachel/Seduction Masterplans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sceptick/pseuds/sceptick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rachel learns she doesn't need love to be happy, but it's there if she wants it, and that getting choked during sex is awesome. (AU after the s2 finale.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on lj in September 2011. Many thanks to the two awesome people who betaed this baby for me, elvabarr and the_seaward. I do not own Glee (thank goodness.)

 

After her first disastrous experience with parties, Rachel had sworn them off for good. At least, she thought she had. Here she is, though, sprawled on the floor of Santana's bedroom with the other girls from Glee, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a fistful of Mercedes' hair in the other.

She’d forgone her glass and started drinking straight from the bottle about half an hour ago. That was also around the time Mercedes started laughing so hard she fell over sideways, her head landing in Rachel’s lap. Her hair is really, really soft.

The fact that Santana invited her to her Fourth of July party at all is incredibly shocking. When she asked about it, Santana mumbled something along the lines of, “According to Brittany, we’re all family, which is totally cheesy, but whatever. And anyway, I don’t like drinking alone.” Then she’d blustered, “Listen, bitch, I do what I wants.”

Santana’s mind works in mysterious ways, Rachel thinks. She’s sitting across from Rachel, clutching her Bailey’s with one hand; the other is casually stroking Brittany’s inner thigh. Rachel’s been careful not to stare at that display of affection too much, because as the daughter of two gay dads she is very much aware of how prejudiced a glance can seem.

Brittany giggles as Santana’s hand tickles even farther up, and takes another sip of the fruity drink she’s holding. Quinn raises an eyebrow at this display, but instead of commenting, she simply looks down quizzically at the beer in her hand and asks, “Santana, don’t your parents mind you stealing their liquor?”

“What, are you _kidding_?” Santana jeers. “We live across the street from Lima Heights, okay? They’re just happy I’m not out there selling our furniture for drug money or anything.”

Rachel’s heard a lot about this Lima Heights, but it’s all from Santana. In fact, she’s pretty sure she’s never heard anyone else mention it before. How strange. But the pleasant floaty feeling that the champagne is giving her buzzes those thoughts out, and she quickly forgets all about mysterious Lima Heights in favor of staring wide-eyed at the poster on the wall. She’s not quite sure who the portrait is of, but given the coloring it’s probably someone Italian; there’s a lot of red, white, and green going on.

Mercedes is mumbling something, too quietly to hear, so Rachel says, smiling gently and speaking very slowly: “You’re going to have to be louder, Mercedes. Pretend like you’re belting – you know, when you sing very, very, _very_ loudly? – and then try again. Like, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again!”

With a huff, Mercedes sits up, only to lean back down against Rachel’s shoulder. She’s extremely warm, like a hot water bottle or a Pekinese or something, so Rachel doesn’t mind at all. Mercedes takes a swig from her cup, and says, “You don’t need to talk to me like I’m a three year old, Rachel, I’m not _that_ drunk yet.”

Rachel shrugs apologetically, accidentally jostling Mercedes off of her shoulder. Mercedes straightens up and continues: “I was _saying_ that now I know why you all look so relaxed all the time.” She gestures vaguely towards the other side of the room, at Quinn, Santana, Brittany, Lauren, and Tina. “Except for you, Quinn. No offence, hun, but you’re not relaxed at all. ‘Matter of fact, I figure you’re kind of repressed, _so_.”

Brittany nods sagely. “One hour a day of feline activity time. It’s great for your figure, too. Lord Tubbington and I have lost five pounds each in the last month.”

“No, Britt,” Santana says, one eyebrow raised and a predatory gleam in her eye as she finally removes her hand from Brittany’s crotch and leans forward on her haunches. “I think Ms. Jones is talking about s-e-x.”  


“I love that song,” Brittany says, tilting her head to one side slowly.

Santana rolls her eyes and turns them on Mercedes, who now has an almost sheepish look about her. “Go on, then. Tell us about it, stud,” she purrs. In a moment of insanity, Rachel considers applauding her on having become so comfortable with her sexuality after a long year of denial. Wisely, she says nothing, though. She doesn’t want to die in Santana’s dark little bedroom.

Mercedes blushes, and buries her nose in her cup once more, refusing to say another word. Santana looks like she’s going to push the issue, but Mercedes is saved by Tina, who pipes up from the circle of Lauren’s arm, “Sex is awesome.”

Brittany nods and says, “We should trade notes. Like, three of us here have slept with Mike. We could start a club.”

Santana nods like it’s a perfectly sensible idea and snags Brittany’s drink to take a mouthful herself. Tina is remarkably calm upon hearing that two other people in the room have known her boyfriend in the biblical way, Rachel observes. There’s not a speck of jealousy on her face.

That kind of confidence must be really, really nice to have.

Tina smiles, pressing closer into Lauren’s side, and says, “I’m not sure Mike would like that.”

“He’s out of the country, tanning his abs a nice, crispy orange on a beach. How would he know?” Santana argues. “Besides, even if he did find out, I’m sure his ego would be flattered.”

“Aren’t you a lesbian, now?” Tina asks, poking Santana gently in the side of the head. “Why do you even care?”

“We could give you some awesome tips,” Brittany says. Santana ignores her and replies, “What _ever_ , Elvira. Just thought you could use the advice. Most guys like it on the wild side, and trust me, I know wild.”

Rachel, who has been struggling to follow the conversation between the three of them, sees an opportunity to open the discussion to those assembled who haven’t done the dirty with Mike Chang. “What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done? Like,” she whispers, leaning in, “ _really_ wild.”

Brittany blinks sleepily at her and says, “I dressed up like a lion for Halloween once.”

“No more for you, Britt,” Santana chuckles, taking the drink out of her hand and tossing it back in one go.

Lauren slurs, “Well, I tried to make a sex tape once, but I mentioned it to a teacher and – you know what? Don’t tell teachers about sex. It just doesn’t work.”

“I don’t know,” Rachel says, “I think, it could be fine, depending on the teacher. Like, Mr. Schue is really cool. He doesn’t mind talking about pregnancy, or alcohol, or – or – yeah. Yeah, I bet you could talk to him about sex and he’d be totally cool about it.”

Santana grins. “Oh yeah. He’d be _way_ cool with it. Forget cool, he’d be _hot_ for it. I’m not talking from experience or anything, but let’s face it, this is the guy who choreographed our Toxic routine.”

“Santana, I’m sure you’re not implying what I think you’re implying. Because that would be twisted, even for you,” Rachel says, frowning disapprovingly. Toxic was a great number! Mr. Schue was totally professional about having her and Brittany roll up and down him. Santana’s just trying to stir up trouble, as usual.

“Whatever.”

“Hey, Santana,” Quinn says, with a vindictive gleam in her eyes that Rachel is very familiar with. “How about you stop trash-talking Mr. Schue, and you put your money where your mouth is.”

“I thought you said no to climbing aboard the Lopez Love Boat. You want some of my spice, Quinn?”

“What?” Quinn gapes at her, scandalized, then shakes her head. “Oh, no, God. _No_ thank you. What I meant was that after all that bragging about how _dirty_ you can be, prove it. Impress us.”

“It still sounds like you want me to put on a show, Q.”

“That’s not—“

“ _Sure_ ,” Santana teases, but at Quinn’s furious glare she raises her hands in surrender. “Fine then. The dirt on the dirty. Prepare to be shocked, I’ve got some hella sweet stories.”

“Because of how long you dated Puck?” Rachel asks. She takes another gulp of her drink. “I only dated him for a short while, but it was long enough to suspect him of, well, _motives_. He stole my handkerchief this one time, and he gave me one of those ridilucous—riliducous – those stupid leers he’s always –and I was going to protest, because whatever he was up to, it was probably unsanitary, to say the least! But then he gave me that look, you know, with the eyebrows and the smile and I _just_. It was nice. To be appreciated. Like that. I didn’t ask what he wanted it for, but I bet it was seriously—“

“Are you for _real_?” Santana interrupts. “Go sit down at the little girls’ table, Short Round, until you’ve learned more about the real world. Puck talks big, and he pulls through on the _big_ part, let me tell you; but he’s more vanilla than angel food cake. It’s all ‘threesomes’ this and ‘public sex’ that, but he’ll never have the balls to do anything without being prodded like _cattle_.”

Lauren cheers sloppily, and informs them, “I’m good with prodding. And I’ve got balls enough for the both of us.”

Quinn had simmered quietly up to this point, unnoticed, but now she snaps: “Would all of you just shut up! I am _not_ repressed, okay?”

“The denial is strong with this one,” Mercedes mumbles, rolling her eyes. Now, obviously Rachel gets the reference: a knowledge of pop culture is important when you’re trying to take the world by storm. Still, she wouldn’t have expected _Mercedes_ to quote Star Wars. That’s more of a Finn or a Sam thing to do. Alcohol makes people say strange things, though, as she knows from experience. There’s no _way_ she would say ‘it tastes like pink’, for example, if she weren’t intoxicated. She prides herself on an extensive vocabulary and a way with words. The idea that she'd say 'it tastes like pink' while sober is just ridiculous, really.

“I’m not!” Quinn says, waving her hands agitatedly. “I did it with Puck last year! Yes, fine, I was drunk, but most of you haven’t even gotten that far, so you can all just _shut up_.”

Rachel Berry is still a virgin. In the world of high school, that’s the same as saying she’s a prude, she’s boring, she’s undesirable. None of that is true, she reminds herself. Not one of those is true. What _is_ true is that apparently it means her opinion is worthless in this conversation.

That smarts.

There’s a brief silence, and then Brittany says, “If we’ve done it, can we still talk?”

Quinn drops her head into her hands. Lauren smirks, and says, “That clears Lopez, Brittany, Tina, and me. Sorry, Mercedes. Rachel. Tough luck, try again next year, etcetera.”

Rachel scowls, but Mercedes raises her head and crows, “Now that’s where you’re wrong, missy –“ but Tina jumps in, speaking loudly and awkwardly over Mercedes. “Mike and I’ve done some pretty weird stuff.”

As the others turn to stare at Tina in anticipation, Mercedes’ eyes widen then her mouth snaps shut. Rachel makes a mental note to ask her about what she’d been saying later, and promptly forgets it as she takes another drink.

“Go on then,” Santana prods, “tell us all about your wild, kinky Asian sex. Do you shove chopsticks up your sushi roll?”

“I’ve totally done that,” Brittany says.

“I think we can safely call that too much information,” Lauren grumbles.

“What? Chopsticks are hard to use. You have to pinch your roll just right, and it takes so much work. Stabbing the sushi works, like, way better.”

“Okay, one, that’s really, really racist, Santana,” Tina says, lifting a finger and jabbing it sharply towards the other girl. “Two... two, two,” she trails off, then giggles, shrugging, and says, “I had a two, and it was a really good two, but I forget what it was. So let’s just leave it at ‘that’s racist’.”

“Whatever,” Santana says. “You said weird, Bela Lugosi. Time to deliver.”

Rachel watches as Tina’s eyes dart back and forth, like the way they did when the Hecklers Club interrupted her song. That was so, so rude of them, and Rachel had been planning to say as much, but then she’d had to deal with Mercedes’ crisis and it slipped her mind. Anyway, Tina’s backed herself into a corner this time. She seems to come to this conclusion at roughly the same time Rachel does, and she chugs her drink, then blurts out so quickly that the words all tumble together, “ _SometimeswhenMikeandIdoithelikesmetochokehim._ ”

There’s a moment of silence as drunken minds try to figure out what was just said.

Lauren evidently gives up on decoding the scrambled words, because she grabs Tina by the shoulders, lifting her up and shaking her lightly. “One more time,” Lauren says, “and clearer, or you lose the nice cushion my well-muscled arm has been supplying.”

Tina laughs up into her eyes, and says slowly, enunciating carefully, “Sometimes when Mike and I do it, Lauren, he likes me to choke him.” Then she drains her glass and smiles proudly around the circle, licking her lips.

Rachel’s jaw is nearing ground-level, she’s so floored. The look on her face must be _priceless_ , because Tina falls into giggles again. Santana and Brittany follow Tina’s gaze, and break into hyena-like cackling, too. At least, Santana does. Brittany does that little soft-chuckle thing that comes off as more mean-hearted than Santana’s laugh.

Rachel’s cheeks burn, and she hurriedly shuts her mouth. She goes to take a sip from her bottle, averting her eyes from the others, and frowns when she finds it empty. As Tina tells the others that Mike “says it makes it more intense,” Rachel grabs a bottle from the center of the circle and pours herself a glass. The label on the bottle is blurry, but she doesn’t really care _what_ she’s drinking as long as she’s drinking something, so it doesn’t matter.

Out of the blue, as she’s reaching back in to replace the bottle, Tina reaches for her wrist. Tina fumbles around a little, trying to get a good grip with sweaty fingers, but she gets a good grip. Rachel meets her eyes, still blushing a little but also curious about the interruption. Tina’s got this apologetic look all over, like she didn’t mean to laugh at her. That’s really kind of nice, so Rachel lets her frown fade away into a gracious smile, the one she practices in the mirror for leveling at her competition after they’ve been humbled by her glorious win at the Tony’s.

With her fingers still wrapped around Rachel’s wrist, Tina continues, and it’s obvious from the way her voice drops that it’s meant as a confession; to shoulder some of the embarrassment and take the focus away from Rachel. She says, “I can do it by myself, too.”

Rachel’s breath hitches, and Tina’s smile becomes mischievous. “And when I hold my breath,” she says, “everything feels, like, a million times better.”

Then Tina releases her wrist, like nothing happened, and refills her own glass, taking the bottle from Rachel’s limp fingers. Mercedes breaks the tension, slurring, “’S good that you’re so open, Tina. Being open is nice. Secrets are dumb, like, seriously.” Then she nods decisively, and clunks her head back down into Rachel’s lap.

Santana chooses that moment to burst into tears, and buries her face in Brittany’s shoulder. Half-muffled sobs reach Rachel’s ears, things like, “I wanna be open, Brittany, I do!” Sniffle. “The Ellen to your Portia, only younger and hotter and without my own talk show. Yet.” Whimper.

The party sort of disintegrates after that.

 

*

 

Rachel makes a Not To Do List shortly after Santana’s party. It looks a little something like this:

 

I will not:  
• Drink more than ~~one~~ ~~two~~ three glasses of any kind of alcoholic beverage at a party. That’s enough to fit in, but not enough to seriously impair my judgment. Three is a nice, classy number.  
• Use honey for anything other than sweetening my throat before a performance. Ever, ever, ever. Thanks for the horror stories, Santana.  
• ~~Allow myself to be drawn in to conversations I can’t participate in.~~ No, wait. I’m not going to exclude myself, that’s ridiculous. Can I prevent these conversations from arising in the first place? Probably not, given the one-track minds of my fellow Glee Clubbers.

 

She frowns down at the paper. There it is, in a nutshell. The members of New Directions are teenagers with a healthy curiosity about sex. She can relate, obviously. The difference is that they’re _doing_ something about their curiosity; while she waits on the bench, her friends are running their way around the bases in record time.

Since early puberty, Rachel has been reminded periodically by her dads that sex should wait until you’re ready. That’s exactly what she’s doing. It’s probably irritating Finn to no end, waiting for her, but if he really loves her (and he does, he must), then he’ll do it for her. It’s not like they can’t do _other_ stuff in the meantime.

Still, it’s painfully obvious that she’s a few steps behind her peers, and it made the party at Santana’s less than fun. The drinking, the laughing, the bonding, that was all fine, but when they got down to the nitty-gritty she hadn’t been able to contribute. She, Rachel Berry, had been reduced to a – a spectator.

That’s totally and utterly unacceptable.

Having mulled all this over, Rachel changes the final point on her list. In the final draft, it looks like this:

 

• Get left behind by my friends.

 

Her rough draft is disposed of in the shredder. The good copy goes in an envelope, which she seals with a gold star sticker and tucks beneath her pillow.

That night, when she tries to sleep, the knowledge that the list is right under her head, unfulfilled, is an itch that niggles at her mind. That’s good, though. She’ll remember now.

Rachel closes her eyes, thinks of the list, and takes deep breaths as she lies on her back, fists clenching her blankets. In and out, slowly, repeating, until a thought flares in the back of her mind like a single, pure note. Her eyes snap open, although she doesn’t move, and she stares down her body at her chest, which rises up and down in time with each inhalation.

Tina’s soft, hoarse tones ring in her ears, and Rachel is surprised by a prickling of heat that forms between her legs. She’s even more surprised when the beginnings of a plan to resolve the third point on her list take shape in her mind.

Could she do it? Does she even want to?

Of course not. She hasn’t even had sex yet! There’s no place for anything that rough in the first time she’s built up in her imagination, all candlelight and soft music and hesitant touches. When she loses her virginity, it’s going to be _beautiful_. Getting choked isn’t beautiful.

Her mind made up, Rachel turns over on her side resolutely, squeezing her legs together and pushing the idea from her mind. It’s some time before she drifts to sleep, though, and her dreams are nothing short of dirty. When she blinks awake the next morning, she’s tired, frustrated, and aroused, all too aware of an itch she refuses to scratch.

It gets worse as the day goes on. After breakfast, on the elliptical, the sound of her own panting is enormously loud in her ears. She pushes herself harder than usual, and the feeling of her lungs expanding and compressing as she runs, gasping, sends her thoughts in a direction she doesn’t want to like.

She needs a distraction, obviously. Watching _Phantom of the Opera_ however, was, in hindsight, not her greatest idea ever. In her defense, a good sing-along usually takes her mind off her problems; really, though, she would have been better off with a different musical.

The scene she’d forgotten about hits her halfway through like the slap of a cold slushie, and her voice sputters into silence as she stares. Rachel fumbles for the remote, pauses, rewinds. Plays. Then she pauses again just as the Phantom’s hand creeps around Christine’s neck, halfway through ‘Past the Point of No Return.’

Rachel is absolutely still at first. The only sound in the room is her quiet breathing as she stares wide-eyed and intrigued at the screen. Then her fingers curl around the edge of her skirt, lifting it a little. They trail up to trace the curve of her panties along her thigh. She pushes the crotch aside, and dips her ring finger into the wetness there.

Suddenly, there’s the sound of a key grinding in a lock, and she hears the front door slam open down the hallway as one of her dads enters. Quick as a flash, Rachel pulls her hand out from under her skirt, wiping her fingers on the hem just in time as he enters.

“Hey, babydoll,” her dad greets her absently, swinging his keys between his fingers.

Rachel smiles widely, too widely, she must look totally guilty, oh God. “H-hey, dad.” She winces - nerves have made her voice bizarrely high-pitched. She takes a calming breath and tries again. “Don’t you have work today?”

“Forgot my lunch, thought I’d swing by and pick it up.”

She breathes a silent sigh of relief as he exits into the kitchen. There’s nothing that would be more awkward than being walked in on while doing _that_.

Her dad returns with one of those adorable brown-bagged lunches her other dad packs for him. He says it’s to reduce their plastic output, but Rachel knows her dad loves them because it’s something special, something just for him. When Rachel brought Finn a lunch one time, specially packaged in a brown paper bag that was sealed with a heart-shaped sticker, he told her it was “sorta weird, but cool too.” She thought her face would break with the size of her smile. Then he opened it and saw the health food she’d chosen, and he threw it out when he thought she wasn’t watching. She saw him do it. She pretends she didn’t, though, because it’s not like he meant anything by it; Finn can’t be blamed for not knowing how special that lunch was to her.

Her dad returns and places a kiss on the top of her head, and she smiles up at him, although her heart isn’t in it.

“Back to the grindstone,” he jokes. “I’ll see you after work.”

Rachel holds her hand out, and they go through with the little “secret handshake” they’ve been doing since she was seven: rock the fists, wiggle the fingers, the whole shebang. It ends with him miming placing a crown on her head, and she smiles just like she did when she was seven. Even now, her dad makes her feel like a princess. She waves at him as he leaves, and feels like she can accomplish anything.

The TV is still paused on Christine leaning into the Phantom’s hand. Rachel stares at it, then makes her decision.

She can accomplish anything.

She turns off the television, and goes up to her room.

She’s hesitant, at first. Lying down on her bed with the covers pushed all the way down to the end; she slips off her skirt, shimmies it down to her ankles. Tina’s voice echoes in her ears, the memory a little dulled by the alcohol from that night but still clear.

_I can do it by myself, too._

Her hand slides down her hip, her nails drag lightly along her skin.

_When I hold my breath, everything feels a million times better._

As if pulled by gravity, her fingertips trail downwards and inwards from her hip. They take a direct route straight to her slit, where the low burn that’s been niggling at her all morning has intensified.

Then Rachel rubs softly at her clit. She exhales as her toes clench slightly. Taking it between her thumb and her index finger, she tugs lightly, and pushes it with the side of her thumb. Her neck arches, pressing her head back into her pillow, as she strokes herself silently.

Changing her pace, Rachel slips one finger into herself. Curving it up sharply, the tingling jolts race through her abs, through her thighs, out from where her hand moves faster and faster. Sweat begins to collect on her skin, sticking her pink sheets to her back as she shifts up into her fingers’ thrusts.

_When I hold my breath, everything feels a million times better._

For a moment she hesitates, and her fingers still, but she plucks up her courage. She reminds herself, _I can accomplish anything_ ; feels that imaginary crown settling over her head. The sly little smile that broke out over Tina’s face appears in her mind’s eye, and she adds another finger, feeling the pleasant stretch-and-burn that blurs into shivering pleasure as she presses upward, faster now, and again. Remembering that smile, Rachel takes a deep breath, and seals her mouth shut stubbornly.

She continues to work her fingers, sliding in and curving up, sliding out and pressing down. Repeat. Repeat. She adds her thumb, stroking her clit feverishly. Her shoulder blades press down into the bed as her hips lift, straining for more.

With her eyes squeezed shut, Rachel pictures the choir room clearly in her mind. She sees herself, gloriously naked, sweating, trembling with pleasure, and all around her are various Glee Club members. Alright, it’s admittedly a fairly narcissistic fantasy, but God, the looks of adoration and arousal on their faces... Noah’s got his hand down his pants, Finn’s murmuring in a low voice about the mailman, Santana’s staring at her with glazed, half-lidded eyes. It’s ridiculously hot.

Rachel’s not sure whose hands are rubbing her clit or whose fingers are pinching her nipples, but it doesn’t matter, because what they’re doing is amazing and the way they stare is amazing and God, that’s enough. She sees her own face twist and moan, her back arching, and echoing gasps and moans escape the circle around her, and oh, _oh_. There she is, she’s gone, and Rachel’s hips thrust off the bed into her fingers as her body shakes.

She’d once told Coach Sylvester that emotions simply build up, intensify, until they overtake your soul and you explode with music. Sometimes, she thinks coming is just like that, like bursting spontaneously into song.

Rachel’s eyes open, and she smiles up at her ceiling. She slides her hand out from her underwear, wipes her fingers off on her stomach. Her body is positively humming, and it feels fantastic. There’s something, though, there’s a thought at the back of her mind just waiting to be jarred loose. Something’s wrong.

That’s when she realizes she’s still holding her breath. Her lips are still sealed tight, her lungs are barely tingling, and it definitely did not, to quote Tina, “feel a million times better” than a non-erotic-asphyxiation induced orgasm. Not that it was terrible; her toes are only just beginning to uncurl, to be honest. But it wasn’t _extraordinary_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The reason for her problem is obvious. Releasing her breath in an irritated huff, Rachel curses her thorough vocal training. All those breathing exercises have paid off in her singing, but apparently her breath control is simply too good for Tina's trick. She's finally discovered a drawback to perfection.

The pleasant tingles and sense of satisfaction she’d been feeling die out as she realizes she’s been thwarted, and Rachel frowns up at the ceiling. Losing sucks, and that’s what this feels like, although she’s not sure who she’s lost _to_. But Rachel Berry is not so easily beaten, she decides, thumping a fist on her mattress. The list is still tucked under her pillow, and there’s no way she’s giving up on number three. She needs a plan B, that’s all.

 

*

 

Rachel invites Finn over on a Wednesday night - her dads are working late.

When the doorbell rings, she jumps out of her seat, stands almost to attention. It’s like time slows down, and all she can do is stand there, staring wide-eyed at the door. Then the bell rings a second time. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she runs to get it.

After a deep breath to steady her nerves, Rachel opens the door, smiling widely and craning her neck to meet Finn’s eyes as she lets him in.

“Thank you for coming,” she says, and she stretches up on her tiptoes to plant a careful kiss on his cheek. When she settles back down onto her heels, he grins at her for a moment, then grabs her face in his hands and smacks one on her lips, too.

Rachel loves the way Finn kisses. It’s like all of his attention is on her; a spotlight of Finn-focus. No matter how absentminded or disinterested he may seem sometimes, no matter how often he zones out while she’s waxing poetical about the value of Rogers and Hammerstein, when he kisses her she remembers that he loves her.

He pulls back too soon and smiles, nodding his head a little. “The superman of kisses,” he reminds her, crossing his arms proudly.

Her own smile fades a little at the reference to their failed Nationals experience, but she shoves that thought away, stretching her lips into another smile; less bright this time, but Finn doesn’t notice, so it’s alright.

Rachel leads Finn into the living room by the hand, and leaves him there as she makes a quick stop to the kitchen. She pours them each a glass of her parents’ wine (from two different bottles, to make the loss less noticeable). It’s not that she thinks Finn will need to be drunk to do this for her, he’ll just be more open to discussion with a little alcohol in him.

Finn is sprawled over the couch when she gets back. She sits next to him, rather more daintily, and offers him his wine glass. His hands dwarfs the glass. While he tries it, she puts her movie selection into the DVD player.

Rachel hasn’t actually seen _The Unbearable Lightness of Being_ before, but it was the only movie in her dads’ collection that looked sexy and wasn’t about two guys. She didn’t think Finn would be comfortable watching a movie like that, frankly, so she went with the one with a beautiful woman in lingerie on the cover instead. Stage two of her action plan: get his teenage hormones raging with an erotic movie experience. All things considered, this should be the easiest part. This is the guy who almost agreed to quit Glee Club for an over-the-bra shot at Quinn’s breasts, after all.

However, it becomes clear as the night goes on that things aren’t going as planned, and Rachel begins to feel increasingly foolish. The movie has its moments, sure; there are scenes that leave her mouth dry and force her to try and cross her legs as unobtrusively as possible. Still, there is an edge of tragedy and desperation to the plot that she hadn’t accounted for in her plan, and she’s more sad than turned on. God, she _knew_ she should have read the synopsis on Wikipedia first.

She also hadn’t accounted for the effect the wine (and a historical romance) would have on Finn. Only a quarter of the way through the movie, she realizes that his eyes are closed and he’s snoring quietly. She shakes him awake, but five minutes later he’s asleep again.

On-screen, Tereza discovers Sabina and Tomas are lovers, but Rachel can’t even properly appreciate the melodrama because Finn’s still sleeping and every second she waits, staring at his slack face, the more nervous she becomes. She’s getting a serious case of cold feet about the plan. Seduction is all well and good, but what if it’s too much? What if he leaves?

He won’t, she reminds herself, _he loves me_. So she pauses the movie and leans over him. She kisses him softly, cupping his face in her hands, until he responds sleepily, slowly coming back to consciousness.

“Finn,” she whispers.

“Wha’ happened? The movie – is it –“

“No, it’s okay,” she says. “It was boring anyway.” It wasn’t, not really. “Just listen to me, okay? Just listen.”

He nods agreeably, sliding his palms up and down her biceps slowly. The warmth of his hands, and his affection, gives her the courage to continue.

“I want you to do me a favor.”

“Anything,” he says, with that pleased look he gets when he knows he’s said the right thing.

Rachel almost falters then, in the face of his earnest, half-closed eyes, but no. She’s the Glee Club’s rising star, she’s the most talented person at McKinley High, and one day she’s going to _rule_ Broadway. She can do this.

“Finn, I know we haven’t, uh, done much. Anything, really. Well, that’s not totally true, I let you touch my breasts sometimes, and on the last day of school, you remember? I let you grind against me in the choir room until you – and you shouldn’t be embarrassed by how fast that was, it’s really a common problem among teenage boys, as I hear, not that I have much experience –“

“Rachel!” His hands aren’t rubbing her arms anymore, and while he’s looking more alert, he’s also looking less happy. “I get it, okay, we’ve done stuff. You don’t need to drag up my -- my problem. A guy doesn’t like to hear about that.”

She blushes. Said too much, overshot her boundaries, once again. “Right. Sorry.”

“Just – you know, just spit it out.”

“O—okay,” she says. She looks him straight in the eyes, and confesses, “I want you to touch me, Finn. And then I want you to -- to hold me down, not let me breathe until I come.”

The last part comes out in a rush, and Finn goes rigid beneath her, giving her one of those looks that say, _I so didn’t hear what I think I just heard_. Then he sputters out, “You want me to _what_?”

“It’s called breathplay, Finn, it’s – I looked it up online, and there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just this fascination that I have, and – I thought I could share it with you,” she says, slowly transitioning between defensiveness and indignation as a cover for the humiliation tightening her throat.

“That’s not – God, Rachel, that’s not something you just _say_! Look, if you’re kinky, that’s fine, whatever, but most people just watch porn or fly solo with the weird stuff, you know?”

“I tried, Finn! I tried, okay? But I couldn’t – I couldn’t do it by myself, it wasn’t doing anything for me,” she says tremulously, gripping his arms tightly as she tries to make him understand. “But I thought, maybe it’s the experience that’s important. Maybe it’s about adrenaline, and trust, more than anything else. And I trust you, and I thought you trusted me.”

There are tears dragging at Rachel’s lashes, seeking to break free, but she won’t let them. She searches Finn’s face desperately, and hope burns in her chest when he relaxes, wiping a hand across his face. He looks defeated, and if he’s been beaten, that means she’s won.

A shaky smile spreads across her face when he sighs. He looks up at her and says, “I do trust you, Rachel, you know that. I still think this is weird, okay, but I’ll give it a try. Because I love you.”

“Okay,” she breathes, “okay.”

The heady thrill of triumph races through her, and Rachel leans down, kisses him thoroughly. Then she stands up and hurriedly gulps back the rest of her wine. The actress’s tearful eyes watch from the screen as she takes Finn’s hand and leads him from the living room.

Thus far her plan has been a total failure, and Finn clearly isn’t aroused at all, so the moment her bedroom door is shut she’s kissing him, pulling him down into her arms. It’s sloppy, desperate, but it does the trick; Finn likes attention almost as much as she does. He starts to respond more fervently, pushing her back towards the bed.

When the back of her knees hit the frame, they buckle, and she drags him down with her as she falls. He looms over her on all fours and she scrabbles at the zipper of her dress. She drags the tag down, fingernails catching sharply on the metal, then pulls her arms out of the sleeves and shoves the fabric down her body. It tangles around her ankles, and Finn nearly tears it helping her kick it off.

“You are so hot,” Finn mumbles into her neck. “Jesus, you are so hot,” and she arches up into it, into his lips and his flattery.

He’s grinding his hips against hers, pushing her into the mattress, but it’s not enough. Rachel grabs his hand with desperate fingers and shoves it between her legs. She thrusts up into his palm as he kisses her. His fingers are clumsy, but they do the trick, and she swallows back a whimper when his thumb finds her clit.

It’s now or never. Rachel leans up and kisses him, deeply. She whispers, “I love you, Finn Hudson,” and it comes out like an order. He stares at her in confusion, then his eyes widen in epiphany and he responds. He raises his hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing her throat, and says hoarsely, “what do I do?”

The final stage: execution. She’s done a little research, so they should be able to muddle their way through this. Wikipedia didn’t really go into detail on how erotic asphyxiation works with a partner, and she’d been hesitant to venture into the Google search engine. Noah’s story about the time he searched ‘prostate’ cemented in her a healthy fear of the internet. Nevertheless, she explains what she knows, demonstrating with her own hand. “You’re going to have to place your hand over my face like so,” and she covers her mouth with her palm, pressing her fingers up until they block her nostrils. “Of course you’ll continue the vaginal stimulation simultaneously, and –“

“Rachel, words with more than three consonants aren’t sexy,” Finn interrupts, squinting down at her, breaking her stride. She stares at him for a second, bemused, then informs him, “Syllables, Finn, not consonants. Otherwise words like, like “fuck” or “cunt” wouldn’t be so predominant in pornography.”

“Not really the point, Rach,” he mutters sullenly, “and have you ever even watched porn?”

“ _Also_ not the point, Finn,” she says. “Just – just put your hand over my mouth and don’t stop unless I pass out. Okay?”

He sort of pauses at that, like he hadn’t considered the possible consequences of this game of hers, but Rachel doesn’t let him rethink his decision. She takes a deep breath of air, in through her nose, then grabs his hand in hers. She places it over her mouth. There’s a moment of utter stillness, as he squints down at her and she adjusts to the feel of his warm hand pressed up against her lips, then his fingers begin to move anew between her thighs.

It’s undeniably exciting, the thought that while one hand pleasures her, the other is slowly smothering her. His palm is humid and moist over her mouth and against her nose, a leaden weight that draws more and more of her attention as her lungs begin to ache. His other hand is pressed up against her clit, pushing it this way and that. It lacks finesse, but it’s combined with the dizzy feeling that’s spiraling through her mind as she struggles to inhale past Finn’s fingers, and together they’re dynamite.

Sweat breaks out across Rachel’s forehead as her hips push up into Finn’s hand. He has one finger in her and he’s working in a second. Her mouth is completely dry, her chest is clenching as it seeks relief. Every twinge and burn sings that she’s close.

Her whole body is under attack; first her abs and then her other muscles start to scream for air. Her eyes scrunch shut with pleasure as she arches feebly up into Finn’s chest. She thinks, yes, yes, almost, and then it’s like she can’t think at all because all her focus is on the aches in her lungs and between her thighs.

Then Finn’s fingers are coming off her mouth, and the great weight that’s been bearing down on her chest is abruptly gone. She opens her eyes, totally disgruntled at the way he killed her moment, and she sees his face.

She’d been so caught up in the sensations that she didn’t even notice his reaction. Now, though, she sees the disgust, and it hurts her in a completely different way than the slushies or Quinn’s slap did. It feels more like finding out someone else is getting her solo, but not someone like Mercedes who can handle it. Like – like if Brittany got her solo, and Finn was the one that gave it to her. She’s nearly speechless with humiliation and fury. Nearly.

“Finn, what –“

“Jesus, Rachel, don’t even start!” He’s shoved himself away from her bed, and is hunched over near the door now, an angry flush overtaking his face and making him ugly. “You – you – I can’t do this!”

She scrambles up until she’s kneeling on the bed. “No, wait, Finn, it’s okay. You just got a little spooked, and, and I can understand that. It’s not a normal thing, I know, not what you’d expect a girl like me would want, but it is and I want to share it with you. Won’t you share it with me?”

Her pleading eyes seem to have no effect on him, as he shouts, “Not normal? It’s fucking weird, Rachel! Your face was red, Rachel, like fire hydrant red under my hand. That’s not hot, okay? That’s not sexy. _This_ ,” and he gestures savagely at the bed, at what they were doing, “isn’t sexy.”

She’s frozen. His angry words have turned her to stone. Her dads will come home and find her, like a princess out of a tragic myth, and they’ll sob over her concrete body. Andrew Lloyd Webber will write a musical about it, and it’ll make millions. He’ll probably have to leave out the part about the breathplay, though, if he really wants it to take off. All this flashes through her mind in the space of a breath, and still she is frozen.

“I thought I could do this again,” he says, “I thought I could handle your crazy, but... this is way too much.”

He stands tall, staring down at her, and opens the door. Finally she moves, snapped from her stupor, and she reaches for him with one arm, saying, “No, Finn, please –“

Turning back to her, he throws out a final shot. “And it felt like all your _stupid_ stuffed animals were judging me with their little plastic eyes.”

He slams the door behind him, and she starts to cry.

 

*

 

For what feels like the millionth time, Rachel picks herself back up.

Well, that’s not exactly true. Her dads help some, too. When they get home to find her sobbing angrily into her pillow, the outbox of her phone full of pleading messages with no replies, they bring her a glass of warm milk, rub her back, offer to watch The Sound of Music with her. When that’s over, they talk her out of doing a complete overhaul on her room, ditching the pinks and the pastels for greys and blacks to suit her mood. They don’t ask why she’s so upset, and she doesn’t tell them, but it’s enough to know they care. At least _someone_ does.

She takes a day to herself, to eat low-fat ice cream and sing around the house at the top of her lungs. She films herself performing “If (You Hadn’t But You Did)” from the Broadway classic _Two on the Aisle_ , and posts it online using a viewing filter that only allows certain people to watch it (read: everyone from Glee Club minus Finn. And Santana, for that matter, but that’s just common sense.) It’s a song full of aggression and vindictive pleasure, and it gives her back some of the power and confidence Finn took when he left her. If she pictures him as the dead husband from the song, well, that’s fine too.

Everyone copes with hardship differently, and this is how Rachel Berry does it.

At the end of the day, she sits herself down in front of her mirror. She goes through a mental list of all the things that have happened today that say, “Rachel, you’re a wonderful person and you deserve better than that bizarrely tall coward.” Mercedes, Brittany, and Mr. Schue all left complimentary comments on her video, when she went down to the store to buy pink lemonade (the only kind she’ll drink) some guy she didn’t know checked out her legs, plus she recorded a version of “Don’t Stop Believing,” doing all the harmonies herself, and overlaid them until she had a cover performed _entirely_ by herself. It sounded beautiful, of course.

All in all, she thinks as she stares at her reflection, today has more than made up for the embarrassment of yesterday. Which brings her to her next question: will she try again?

Oh, not with Finn, of course. That ship has sailed; the fat lady has sung. This time, it’s over. No matter how hard he begs or how many songs he sings. She’s given him a million chances, and he’s proved that he can’t handle her. He’s just a boy, really, and that’s not enough anymore.

She nods emphatically at herself in the mirror. She’s totally over him. Now she’s free to pursue her real love without distraction: her future. But she frowns, because Tina’s words are still ringing in her ears, even after all that’s happened, and somehow, giving up on that particular fantasy now would feel like conceding that Finn’s right. And he’s not. He’s just not, and she’ll never think he is again after the way he treated her.

However much she doesn’t want to admit it, this is something she can’t pull off on her own. That rankles fiercely, but it’s true. In order to pursue this to its end, she’s going to need to find someone willing. Someone who isn’t as easily freaked out as Finn.

Is it worth it? That’s the big question: is it worth the potential humiliation, or worse, the potential non-platonic-or-Broadway-related feelings that might result if she tries again. She’s _this close_ to swearing off romance altogether, seriously. Her newfound obsession, and the knowledge that, like Velma Kelly in _Chicago_ , she can’t do this alone, are the only things stopping her from doing it.

Rachel stares into her own eyes for a long, long time before she finds her answer. It comes to her suddenly: she needs to be free to pursue her future without distraction. This thing, this kink she needs to work out, _is_ a distraction, the kind that’ll only go away once it’s been satisfied. Thus far, it’s been as stubborn as she is. She’s going to need to do it right if she wants it out of the forefront of her mind, drawing her focus away from her destiny.

She’s got to try again.

That’s when Rachel gets one of her Ideas. A crazy, awful, wonderful idea, the kind anyone else would shy away from. But not her. It’s like she’s some kind of genius or something, in spite of the B- she got in history last year. She’s the kind of genius that comes up with Ideas that are so – so _insane_ that no one else would try them, and no one else could pull them off. Like singing “With You I’m Born Again” dressed in religious apparel. That’s just _brilliant_ , even if no one else could see it.

So, the Idea. It’s going to take some research, that’s for sure. Rachel drags out her laptop, pops it open, boots it up. When she opens her Myspace page, a new comment pops up, this one from Tina.

 

_U sound awesome, Rachel! A little intense, but hey, i’m 1 to talk right? Lol :)_

 

Rachel’s lips quirk upwards as giggles bubble up in her throat. Somehow, the text-abbreviations give the message a chipper tone – “effervescent,” even, as Tina might say. Really, though, this is like some kind of omen, it’s a sign that her plan’s going to work. Rachel can _feel_ it.

For research, she again foregoes Google – searching ‘how to start a kinky lesbian affair’ is such a bad idea not even Rachel would try it. Instead, she logs in to Facebook, and reaches out to the (currently and happily retired) master of seduction himself.

 

_Rachel Berry: Noah?_

 

There’s no reply for a minute, and she taps her fingers impatiently against the wood of her desk. Then the chat bubble dings, and Rachel leans forward eagerly to see the response.

 

_Puck Puckerman: sup babe_

_Rachel Berry: I don’t think Lauren would much like you calling me that, Noah._

 

Silence, so Rachel hurries on before she loses his interest.

 

_Rachel Berry: I’d ask what you’ve been up to this summer, because manners are important even though I’ve got more pressing matters on my mind, but I’m kind of in a hurry. So. Can I ask you a question?_

_Puck Puckerman: shoot_

 

She pauses. Like the Phantom sang, once this question is out there, she’ll be past the point of no return. No backward glances. She steels herself, then types: _How does one seduce a girl?_ —and presses the enter key.

This time the reply is immediate.

 

_Puck Puckerman: what, r u gay now?_

 

This isn’t about sexuality, it’s about satisfaction, but she doesn’t much feel like explaining that. She’s not sure Puck would see the difference.

 

_Rachel Berry: Just answer the question, Puckerman._

_Puck: shit, next thing u know i’ll be the only hetero left in this club. new directions, that’s for damn sure, a new gay direction for every ex-straight teenager. just couldn’t resist the power of boobs, could u?_

_Rachel Berry: Puck! Answer the question!_

 

She waits for his next entry, but he’s taking his own sweet time. She can just imagine him, scratching his mohawk bemusedly, wondering if she was gay when they dated. If she thought about a girl while making out with him. She didn’t, of course. She thought about Finn. That’s over with, though.

Finally, his reply appears on the screen. She can’t help but appreciate Noah for this much: shocked and disgruntled though he may be, he still gives her what she asks for. He helps, in his own way.

 

_Puck Puckerman: same way you would a guy, probably, not that i’ve ever seduced a guy. except on a dare once but it’s not gay if it’s a dare._

_Puck Puckerman: so yeah – same as a guy, only probably with more chocolates and flowers and shit. girl stuff._

_Rachel Berry: Thanks, Noah. Have a nice summer, stay in touch, etc :)_

_Puck Puckerman: yeah whatever rachel._

_Puck Puckerman: you too._

 

She logs off, and closes her browser. The smile on her face has been slowly growing wider since his final message came through. Finally, victory is practically in her grasp, and she’s going to chase it with all her not-inconsiderable willpower.

It begins with an email, because she can’t lure her new target in as easily as she did with Finn. Outside of Glee Club and the odd party, they don’t really interact much. That strikes Rachel as odd, actually, because they share a love of theatricality and aspirations of a career in musical theatre. She’s formed friendships on far less. Anyway, she can’t simply call Tina up and ask her if she wants to come over. Maybe someone like Quinn or like Mercedes could pull that off, someone with that casual charm and charisma, but Rachel doesn’t have that edge. ‘Socially awkward’ is something of an understatement, she’s been told. Thus, the email.

 

_To: tinadoublec@mckinley.ca  
From: rachelbarbraberry@mckinley.ca_

_Dear Tina,_

_You’ve been invited to a party at my house this Sunday! It’ll be a night of fun, drinking, and mirth; you’re sure to enjoy yourself! Please RSVP at your earliest convenience.  
Your host,_

_Rachel Berry._

 

There. Formal yet casual, inviting yet not overinvested. A perfectly classy email, Rachel thinks, and she adds a few asterisks to the end of her name to replace her signature star.

Loathe though Rachel is to admit it, though, the odds of Tina coming to relax at her place are extremely low. Rachel still remembers how ready her friends were to ditch her party before Noah broke out the liquor. It comes down to that ease some people have around others – the ability to just ‘chill out’. That’s one thing Rachel just can’t do, and right now it could be the fatal flaw in her plan. Damn it!

There’s nothing for it. As much as Rachel values honesty, some things are more important. She makes a few small changes to the email and sends it off. She leans back in her chair and smiles back at her reflection, a satisfied gleam in her eye.

 

_Dear Tina,_

_You’ve been invited, along with a select group of my closest friends, to a party at my house this Sunday! It’ll be a night of fun, drinking, and mirth; you’re sure to enjoy yourself! Given the exclusive nature of this invitation I must ask you to keep it on the “D-L” : P (that means down-low, by the way. In case you didn’t know.) Please RSVP at your earliest convenience._   
_Your host,_

_Rachel Berry ***_

 

*

 


	3. Chapter 3

Puck said, essentially, that seduction is a unisex art. In other words, Rachel is totally justified to recycle her battle plan from the Finn Disaster into Operation Tina's Temptation. Originality is grand, but she's working on a tight schedule. She's not willing to wait half a week until her dads work late again, so she only has a day or so to make the arrangements.

Rachel shoos her dads out of the house with a beautiful, calligraphy-style hand-penned itinerary to the date of their dreams: dinner, a play, and a night at the fanciest hotel in Lima, all expenses paid. Of course, she paid using their credit card, but at the very least she planned it out for them. (She also cut some costs by getting them reservations at Breadstix instead of that nice French restaurant near Santana’s place, so no, it won’t be the nicest date they’ve ever been on. But they were both very grateful for the work she put in, and they’ll be out of the house for the whole night.)

Now Rachel has the place to herself.

She flits around the living room, making sure everything’s in place. She has a little plate of chocolates laid out, as Puck had suggested. The wine is already poured and placed on the coffee table. She hopes that part works better with Tina than it did with Finn; the last thing she needs is for two consecutive seduction attempts to go awry. Her ego would never recover.

There’s a knock on the door, and Rachel straightens quickly. She gives her clothes a once-over, checking for any misbehaving hemlines and such. She’d briefly considered wearing the outfit Kurt had selected for her last year (the sexy one, not the  _Grease_  one, because although that one might have brought back favorable memories of the time she’d groped Tina’s breasts while caught up in a performance, she still associated it with comments about a ‘sad clown-hooker’.) In the end, though, she decided to stick with the polka-dot dress she’d worn for Finn. A tried-and-true classic that comes off easily.

Rachel grabs the bouquet she selected earlier in the day and rushes to the door. Swinging it open, she comes face to face with a startled Tina, who, she notices, is wearing dark knee-socks spattered with polka-dots. Rachel smiles, pleased. It’s like _destiny_  or something, she thinks victoriously. She thrusts the bouquet at Tina.

“I got these for you,” she announces. “Do you like them?”

Tina stares at the flowers, bemused. She quirks an eyebrow at Rachel and says, “You bought me flowers?”

“They’re – they’re Friendship Flowers. An offering of friendship, I got them for you as, you know, friends,” says Rachel, blushing lightly. Not one minute in and she’s already off-balance, that’s not a good sign.

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, then Rachel takes Tina’s elbow and ushers her into the house.

“Thanks for coming,” Rachel says as she leads Tina to the living room.

“Yeah, it -- this sounds fun, Rachel,” says Tina, and she waits until  
Rachel releases her elbow before settling down on the couch. She places the bouquet on the coffee table before asking, “who else is invited?”

She’s casting her gaze around like she thinks the others might be hiding behind the television or something, so Rachel lies, widening her eyes guilelessly. “Mercedes, Artie, Kurt: Glee Club version one-point-oh. They all said they’ll be a little late, though, so I thought we could just get the movie started while we wait for them.”

Tina’s face is unreadable, but then, she always does seem a little impassive. That’ll hurt her if she goes on to a career in theatre, Rachel thinks, unless she finds that elusive Keanu Reeves appeal. Tina  _does_  wear black leather a lot, so it could work out for her.

When Tina continues to sit in silence, Rachel bounces up to prep the DVD player rather than address the strange tension that has filled the room. She’d considered and discarded a few options during the planning stages. Namely,  _The L Word_ , which she nixed for being too obvious, _Xena_ , which she decided might be too campy, and  _Suckerpunch_ , which, while being a perfect match for Tina in all its steampunk homoerotic glory, Rachel simply wasn’t interested in. Finally she threw up her hands (literally, because there’s nothing like a good dramatic gesture to cleanse the soul) and chose to stick with what she knew. So once again she slides in  _The Unbearable Lightness of Being_  and hopes for the best.

The opening scene begins and she settles back onto the couch. A glance out of the corner of her eye reveals that Tina is sitting very straight, her gaze focused intently on the screen like she has blinders blocking out her peripheral. Rachel, on the other hand, can’t seem to keep still. This is probably due in part to the fact that she’s already seen this part of the movie once, but also because of the way her nerves twist as each surreptitious look she shoots Tina reveals nothing of her thoughts.

The movie fades into the background for Rachel as she considers the next step of her plan. Should she move closer? Tina might not even notice, honestly, given the way she’s focusing on the screen. Maybe Rachel should try the old yawn-and-swing, like the guys always do in romantic comedies. She could sidle in a little closer, and fake a hearty yawn complete with grimace and arm stretch. All she’d have to do is lower her arm around Tina’s shoulders. Tina might even snuggle in closer – if only she’d thought to lower the thermostat! They could have cuddled for warmth! Oh, damn her belated genius, that could have been  _brilliant_ —

“So this is a little weird,” Tina says, staring at the TV.

“Huh?” Rachel asks dazedly.

Tina nods at the screen, and Rachel turns to see. Oh, the first sex scene. There’s nothing unusual about it, in Rachel’s opinion; as far as she’s aware, it’s a pretty normal example of male/female intercourse. Then again, what does she know? What she considers normal actually isn’t, right? Isn’t that what everyone’s been telling her?

The mildly voiced observation becomes a raging judgment in her mind, and Rachel rushes to defend herself.

Jamming her thumb into the pause button, Rachel tosses the remote aside and turns to face Tina squarely. Fists clenched, chin jutting out stubbornly, voice shrill, she says, “Who are you to judge me on my taste, Tina? What gives you the right to call me out like that? Maybe I like things that are, are  _different_  from what other people like, and maybe that makes me weird, fine. Well, maybe  _you_  could at least try to be nice, and not imply that I’m some kind of, of sexual deviant!”

Tina raises her hands defensively. “I didn’t say any of that!”

“You said I was weird,” Rachel accuses.

“No, Rachel, I said  _this_  is weird,” and Tina waves her hands, the gesture encompassing the two of them and the television, where two shadowy figures are frozen mid-coitus.

When Rachel says nothing, just stares at her in silence, Tina continues with a shrug. “You. Me. Watching this. I mean, since we’re not—“

Rachel feels her lower lip tremble, and she interrupts softly, “We’re not friends?”

“No, we are,” Tina assures her. “I’m your friend, Rachel. Just, watching this, it’s weird, because we’re not… you know, sleeping together.”

Twisting her hands in her lap, Rachel fumbles for something to say. “Well, then.” She pauses, and averts her eyes, continuing, “I’m sorry for jumping on you like that. I see now that it was totally unjustified.”

Then she falls silent, leaving a great empty silence between them to build uncomfortably. She was in the wrong, she hasn’t misjudged Tina after all. In fact, given the circumstances, she thinks, Tina should crack and ask any minute now, and that can be used to her advantage. She hasn’t derailed her plan, just taken it in a bit of a new direction, and isn’t that fitting?

“So, uh, what caused the outburst?”

Ladies and gentlemen, the award for best at life goes to Rachel Berry.

Seeping earnestness from every pore, Rachel says, “It’s Finn. I wanted to try something new, something special, and he freaked out. He can’t handle my innovative genius, obviously, and I shouldn’t let it get to me, but – I thought he trusted me. That’s what hurts the most, I mean, besides the ugly rejection and the demeaning self-righteousness with which he delivered it. I thought he trusted me enough to try what I wanted.” She drops her gaze, and finishes, “I guess not.”

“Rachel,” Tina says, then she trails off, like she can’t find the words she’s looking for. Total honesty can throw you off like that. Rachel is counting on it. Tina ends up muttering rather lamely, “I’m sorry.”

  
Be gracious. “Thank you,” Rachel says. “Obviously, it’s not your fault, but I appreciate it all the same.”

They sit in silence, and Rachel is very nearly driven to biting her nails, an awful habit she developed for a stressful week during her first school play,  _Annie_. She’d figured Tina’s natural curiosity would make her ask ‘what were you doing?’, but it hasn’t. How exactly does one say “I asked my boyfriend of one-and-a-half years to suffocate me and he wouldn’t do it, so I think you should” without making everything awkward?

She’s opening her mouth to say that very thing, awkwardness be damned, when Tina interrupts, stuttering slightly. “D-do you mind if I make an observation?”

Rachel knows the stutter from their early days was put-upon, so she’s equally aware that whatever Tina wants to say, it must be serious. Propositioning her can wait, for the moment.

She nods, and waits.

Tina raises her eyebrows, leans in, lifts a hand as if to place it over Rachel’s but then retracts it. She says, “I just – the way you defer to Finn, it’s – I don’t know what.” A pause, a quiet sigh. Rachel stares. “You remember our first Sectionals? When you ran up on stage, belting your heart out about how no one was going to ‘rain on your parade’? Or even – or even our first diva-off. You sang that you were done with limits, right? Defying gravity. I just –“

“Tina,” Rachel says, “I –“

“No, don’t interrupt me. I’m done with being interrupted,” Tina says loudly, frowning. Rachel huffs in irritation, but Tina just says, “You can say your part after, okay? Just let me finish. You spend so much time singing about your dreams, about how hard you’re willing to work for them, how you’ll take down anyone who gets in your way, but then – then you let Finn treat you like that. I don’t get it.”

There’s nothing Rachel can do but stare at her. First of all, that’s probably the most Tina has said to Rachel in one sitting, ever. Second, she’s absolutely right on all counts, and she’s echoed a lot of things Rachel has been thinking about recently. It’s nice to know that Tina has as many feelings about Rachel’s future as Rachel herself. She tries to put that into words, but all she can come up with is, “I agree with you. You’re absolutely right. From now on, no more raining on my parade. I’m done with Finn Hudson, and I’m done sacrificing my dreams for the sake of high school drama. I’m through.”

Tina’s giving her this huge smile, all shiny teeth and full lips, and Rachel finds herself grinning back, nodding. This is what gives her the confidence to say, “And there’s one dream I want to reclaim tonight.”

“That’s awesome, Rachel.”

Here comes the line. It’s horrifically inappropriate, she’s sure, but blunt is best. “I – I asked Finn to do this for me, but he refused, so I think you should.”

Tina’s squinting at her like she has no idea what’s going on, so Rachel just blows onward, full-steam-ahead. “I want to try what you said you do. At Santana’s party. I want to do that, with you.”

There’s this look people give Rachel sometimes, like when she sends her competition to crack houses or suggests they should write their own songs for a show choir competition against a team of six-time champions. It’s all about the blank eyes, the dropped jaw, the tilted head. A little like dumbfounded shock, but  _more_. That’s the look Tina’s giving her, and frankly Rachel thinks she’s overreacting here a little.

“I understand that this might be weird for you,” she continues, “given your relationship with Mike, but -”

“Mike and I broke up,” Tina interrupts, dazed. Her eyes are still quite blank. “His mom heard about the vampire incident and flipped.”

“See, I said I wouldn’t interrupt you. I expect you to give me the same respect, Tina.”

“Right. Sorry.” Again with the blank stare.

“But, if you’re done with Mike, then what’s the problem?” Rachel says. She reaches out to grip Tina’s hands dramatically. “Why not take that leap of faith and say, ‘yes, I will suffocate you, Rachel!’”

“Because we’ve hardly spoken three words to each other outside of Glee Club!”

“But , but you stroked my wrist that one time. Also at Santana’s party. And you liked my song,” Rachel says, shaking her head in genuine confusion.  
“That doesn’t mean I want to -- to do  _that_  with you,” Tina snaps defensively, pulling her hands away from Rachel.

Rachel draws back into herself, away from Tina, and the tension stretches out. It’s like one of those old western flicks Rachel’s dad loves, where the two cowboys stand at arms, staring each other down. Neither draws. They just wait.

Finally, Rachel breaks, and she says, “I thought I could ask you. I thought you’d understand about having different urges, and _being_  different, and maybe you’d be open to helping me out. As a friend.”

It feels like forever before Tina says anything. Rachel’s just waiting and waiting, trying to read Tina’s thoughts in her eyes. Again with the impassiveness, though, and Rachel is lost. All she can do is sit and hope, because there’s no way to know.

Then, “As a friend?” Tina asks.

“Yes,” Rachel breathes, and it’s like there are fireworks bursting in her mind, she can’t even think straight she’s so excited. “Yes, that’s – as a friend.”

“Okay.”

That’s all she needs: that one, quiet ‘okay.’ Rachel jumps up with a squeak of joy, grabbing Tina’s hands and pulling her up after. Humming ‘ _We Are The Champions_ ,’ she drags Tina up the stairs, although she notices that by the time they reach the landing, she’s not dragging her at all - Tina is actively following her. Rachel draws a big, fat, mental A+ on her imaginary battle plan.

Pushing open her bedroom door, Rachel steps aside to let Tina enter. Neither speaks as Tina takes her room in while Rachel watches with bated breath and crossed fingers. When Tina turns to her and smiles, Rachel smiles back with relief. She’s heard enough insults about her bedroom’s style to last a lifetime.

Despite Tina’s approval, Rachel can’t help but hurry awkwardly around the room, gathering her various stuffed animals up in her arms. Intending to stuff them into her dresser and be done with it, she’s stopped by Tina when she asks, “What are you doing?”

“I just don’t want you to feel judged by my childhood toys. I know their presence during coitus can seem strange to, uh, some people,” she explains, rocking back onto her heels.

Tina just crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows. Rachel gets the message.

“Right,” she says, “be myself, ignore the haters. Got it.” Tina laughs, and the tension eases out.

The stuffed animals are dropped to the floor from suddenly uncaring arms, and Rachel approaches the bed. She sits down, smoothing the sheets beside her, and Tina moves to join her.

Thinking back on their evening as they sit side by side, Rachel is struck by the realization that maybe Tina’s friendship is worth more than she’d expected. Maybe it isn’t worth sacrificing for Rachel’s sexual experimentation. She’d listened so very kindly downstairs, after all. How often does someone do that?

Rachel doesn’t usually get qualms about other people’s feelings. The rarity of this experience is what prompts her to make absolutely certain. She asks, “Are you sure? About this? I mean, you can still walk away, if you want. Obviously I’d rather if you didn’t, but it’s your choice.”

“No,” Tina says. “I’m sure. I want to help you, Rachel.”

Then she climbs off the bed, kneels in front of Rachel and says, “lie back.”

For once in her life, Rachel obeys without question.

There’s the quiet whisper of skin on skin, and Rachel feels Tina’s hands sliding hesitantly up her thighs where they hang off of the edge of the bed. Then Tina’s fingers are roving past the hemline of her dress, not even bothering to take it off, just brushing past and on to the edge of her panties. Rachel waits, breathless.

The first swipe of Tina’s thumb across the crotch of Rachel’s panties makes her stomach clench. The second one draws a shallow gasp out of her. When Tina pushes the panties aside and rubs the soft pad of her thumb down Rachel’s slit, she shudders from her head all the way to her toes.

Tina becomes bolder, and the swift strokes soon have Rachel’s hips reaching up for more. It’s so different from Rachel’s own, more hesitant style, or Finn’s clumsy caresses. Tina’s hand is completely foreign to Rachel; the shape of her knuckle and the twist of her wrist are unknown. It’s strange, unpredictable, and incredibly arousing.

When Tina’s thumb presses into Rachel’s clit, Rachel can’t suppress a sharp moan. Her neck arches as she presses her head back into the mattress. Tina’s hand stills, and she stares up at Rachel from the floor. She licks her lips. Rachel’s eyes track the movement hungrily and her heart stutters in her chest.

Then Tina is pushing up off the floor to straddle a startled Rachel. Eager hands push her down to the bed, then Tina hikes Rachel’s dress up around her waist and reaches back in, first with her thumb and then with a finger, pressing slowly into her.

Rachel clenches her eyes shut as she bites back a moan. She could go on like this forever, really she could, just ride Tina’s fingers until the day she dies, but that’s not the point of tonight. With that thought in mind, Rachel gropes around blindly until she finds Tina’s free hand. She draws it slowly up to her mouth and places the palm over her lips.

The fingers stop thrusting and the thumb stops circling. A desperate “ _no_ ” escapes Rachel and is muffled by Tina’s fingers; her eyes fly open to see Tina staring down at her, her pupils totally blown. Rachel is pleased to see the heady blush that’s staining Tina’s cheeks. It’s nice to know the effect she’s having on the other girl.

Tina’s voice is hoarse and her breath unsteady when she says, “Are you sure?”

Rachel has never nodded so fast in her life.

“Okay,” Tina says. She pulls her hand out of Rachel’s panties, and when she grabs Rachel’s hand, Rachel feels her own wetness rub slickly against her fingers.

Tina places Rachel’s hand on her own waist. When she catches Rachel’s bemused look, she explains, “In case you pass out, so I’ll know to stop. Your hand will fall, and then... yeah, you get it.”

Well, that hadn’t come up in any of her research, although admittedly she hadn’t searched much further than Wikipedia. Rachel is embarrassed to realize just how horribly wrong her experiment with Finn could have gone, and resolves never to mention it again. Ever. Unless her publicist thinks it’ll make an interesting addition to her biography, someday in the distant future.

The feeling of Tina’s fingers curling over her cheekbone jolts Rachel from thoughts of her destiny. Tina’s free hand is fumbling with Rachel’s panties, sliding them roughly down her thighs to hang on her ankles, and Rachel’s pulse accelerates as she realizes she’s actually doing this. God, it’s actually happening. Her lips curve up into a smile under Tina’s hand, and Tina grins back. Then she relaxes her hand, and whispers, “breathe.”

Rachel pulls in a quick gasp, and then Tina closes her hand over her mouth, presses the pad of her thumb against the side of Rachel’s nose. Her index finger blocks Rachel’s nostrils almost entirely, and Rachel is hit at once by a kind of almost claustrophobia. She inhales through her nose, and only the tiniest stream of air enters.  _Yes_ , Rachel thinks.

Soft hands push her thighs apart; Tina kneels between her knees, keeping her hand pressed firmly over Rachel’s face as she adjusts herself. Then her fingers are circling Rachel’s folds, no longer hindered by her underwear, and Rachel presses down into them as much as she can. She needs that thumb back on her clit so badly, and Tina is touching her everywhere _but_  there, running her knuckle along her slit and thrusting her thumb into her shallowly.

Every touch is soft, gentle - not enough. Rachel is craving more, more, but she’s restrained by Tina’s hand and the growing emptiness in her lungs. It’s starting to burn as much as her body is and just as needy, leaving her lightheaded and desperate. She’s on fire, slick with sweat that glues her dress to her body. Still, Tina’s fingers continue their steady pace.

Rachel stares up, trying to catch Tina’s eyes, but Tina’s attention is totally focused on her work. If only she’d meet Rachel’s eyes, she’d see the hunger, the need, and she’d speed up. This is ridiculous, she’s practically  _ignoring_  Rachel even as she gets her off, and Rachel can’t even complain because Tina’s palm is pressing down hard on her lips.

Then Tina does look up. She meets Rachel’s eyes, and all Rachel sees is the same hunger she feels reflected back at her.  _She_  did that, she’s the one making Tina feel this way. It’s all her. That thought sends a flash of heat streaking down her gut just as Tina presses two fingers into her, hard, and begins to thrust. Rachel’s vision blurs, both from the sudden pleasure and the lack of air. Her fingers press weakly into Tina’s side.

Rachel struggles to inhale through the tiny gap left between her nose and Tina’s fingers, but only a little bit enters. It soothes her lungs for a moment, but only just, and then they’re back to crying for more. Her heart is pounding with adrenaline, her chest feels like it’s caving in as she drags in another tiny breath, and then Tina adjusts her grip on Rachel’s face and suddenly no air can enter  _at all_.

Tina’s fingers are pressing into her everywhere, shoving into her cunt and digging into her face, and Rachel can’t breathe, she just can’t breathe. There’s a moan building up in the back of her throat; it can’t escape, so it keeps pushing against the roof of her mouth as the pressure builds between her thighs. Every inch of her feels hot, from her face to her lungs all the way inside to where Tina’s fingers are curling deliciously.

All Rachel needs is Tina’s thumb on her clit, hard, she can feel it, but she can’t move at all, she doesn’t have the strength. It feels like the only muscles in her body capable of movement are the ones squeezing tightly around Tina’s fingers and her heart, whose beat is thundering obnoxiously loud inside her head. If she could only lift her hips, signal Tina somehow; but it feels like all she can do is lie still and die as Tina’s fingers slide smoothly in and out.

Her head is as heavy as a rock; her lungs feel like they’re crumpling up inside of her. Everything is touch and feel and harder, more, now, but she can’t say a word. Rachel’s eyes flutter shut, and she sinks deeper into delirium, but Tina’s voice calls her back, saying, “Rachel.”

It’s a struggle just to open her eyes. When she does, Tina’s there, looking down at her like she’s amazing. Her head is about to burst, she’s going to burn up into nothing; then Tina’s thumb presses into her clit and she twists her fingers, oh God, and Rachel is coming hard, dazzling spots jumping into her eyes. Her hips bounce helplessly up into Tina’s hand. Tina releases her face, and Rachel sucks in a deep gasp of air, and that’s almost as good as coming. It’s gloriously fresh, and her lungs expand deeply, absorbing it all, and her hips keep thrusting up, sending delicious shivers along her body until she collapses back, sated.

Rachel lies slackly, gasping, feeling the burn melt away into pleasant coolness. Her thumb traces little circles on Tina’s hip. She gaze drifts upwards, gratitude filling her eyes as she meets Tina’s eyes, and Tina mutters “oh God” before jamming her hand down her skirt. In moments she’s shuddering too, coming with a quiet little moan. Rachel has never felt so powerful in her life.

For a moment, they are frozen; they just breathe. Then Tina rolls off Rachel to lie beside her. Her hand comes down to tangle with Rachel’s fingers, and she turns to Rachel and smiles.

“That was awesome,” Tina says.

Rachel can’t do anything but smile.

They lie side by side for a few minutes, calming down, just enjoying the pleasant buzz. Then Tina turns to Rachel, and says, “We should head back down.”

“Why?” Rachel asks. It feels wrong to keep lying to Tina after such an amazing experience, so she continues, “If you’re worried that the others will arrive to find us lying together and immediately realize the truth of our sudden yet steamy affair, you don’t need to be. I never really invited them at all.”

Tina giggles. “No, I know that.”

“ _What_?”

“I knew the moment you said Mercedes was coming. She told me yesterday that she has a date tonight.”

“Well, why didn’t you say anything then, if you knew I was lying?” Rachel asks. Then, “Wait, she’s on a date? That’s wonderful! Who’s she out with?”

Tina hesitates, and Rachel presses, “You can tell me! You just gave me one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life; you should be able to trust me.”

“No way,” Tina laughs.

Rachel frowns, but it melts away at the sound of Tina’s laugh. She reaches out to play with a piece of blue-streaked hair, and says, “I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

“You can try,” Tina says. Rachel decides to take that as a challenge. It shouldn’t be too hard, honestly, now that she knows of Tina’s weakness for Rachel Berry-induced orgasms. She’ll make a new battle plan later. For now, there are more pressing matters on her mind, and she asks, “So then, if you knew I was lying, why did you stay?”

Tina blushes slightly, and bites her lip. She squeezes Rachel’s fingers, and says, “I was curious, I guess. And – and I wanted to spend some more time with you.”

A warm glow spreads through Rachel’s chest, and she squeezes Tina’s fingers back. “I’m glad,” she whispers.

They’re lying there, catching their breath, when Rachel realizes something. She’d said ‘eventually,’ and Tina hadn’t disagreed. “Do you want to do this again?” she asks.

Tina raises her eyebrows. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Rachel. Once a night is just fine with me, to be honest.”

“No, I mean, again like in the future.” Rachel turns on her side to look Tina in the eyes, and says, “You and me, is that something you want? Do you want me? Because if you do, you need to know that I’ve sworn not to allow romantic entanglements to distract me from preparing from my shining future on Broadway, and just because you’re really, really good with your fingers doesn’t mean that you’re exempt from that oath.” Tina opens her mouth to break in, and Rachel shakes her head. “No interruptions, remember? But seriously, nothing is going to get between me and my career, and that’s something you’ll need to understand if we’re going to do this.”

“Rachel,” Tina says with a smile, “I want Broadway just as much as you do. I wouldn’t dream of getting in your way.”

That’s new, Rachel thinks. She smiles. She could get used to this.

“So, then,” Tina says, lowering her voice to match Rachel’s tone, “How about we go back down, now that we’ve got the details figured out, and finish that movie? It was interesting.”

Seeing Rachel hesitate, Tina adds, “We can snuggle on the couch,” and Rachel’s sold. She bounces off the bed, waits for Tina to do the same. Then they exit the room side by side, and when Rachel offers Tina her hand, Tina takes it, threading their fingers together tightly.

 

 

 


End file.
